While Pindo was unconscious, Cursed Arm Hassan had already returned with Hassan of the Hundred Faces.
"... Though you look like people from the Holy City, still, tsk." Hassan of the Hundred Faces' true form was a somewhat lean, tall woman with long purple hair. Like Cursed Arm Hassan's, her skin was black, as though it had been painted with ink.
At that moment, Hassan of the Hundred Faces had removed her mask. Her face bore a slightly displeased, hesitant expression, as if she did not particularly want to look at Fujimaru Ritsuka and the others.
Cursed Arm Hassan's mask seemed to have been sewn onto his face, whereas Hassan of the Hundred Faces' mask was merely a mask.
"Ah, as for that, Mr. Pindo and the others aren't from the Holy City. Though they are all Knights of the Round Table, they've already left the Lion King's service." Fujimaru Ritsuka explained on Pindo and Percival's behalf.
Artoria sat by Pindo's window with her back to Hassan of the Hundred Faces. She said nothing, nor did she particularly want to.
"... For now, I trust you." After a moment of silence, Hassan of the Hundred Faces ultimately chose to trust them. "After all, Cursed Arm has chosen to trust you. I believe in his judgment, and besides..."
Her gaze settled on Pindo, who lay unconscious on the bed, and she sighed.
Before Cursed Arm Hassan and the Chaldeans had been sent over by the giant arrow, Pindo alone had held off Mordred's assault despite having expended most of his mana hurrying here. This allowed Hassan of the Hundred Faces to focus on dealing with the dragons. It could be said that Pindo deserved much of the credit for West Village's low casualties.
"If I treated our benefactor harshly, the First